Illuminate the Exit Signs
by Lindsey Grissom
Summary: Post-Half Wit. A little perspective peice with House and Wilson and the changes we see between them during and after the episode, in three parts. 'even House doesn't want him, and that really was the last test...'
1. One

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters or the show, but if I could, then I wouldn't say no...  
**A/N: **Set after Half-Wits...not exactly an AU, more like a _'could have happened behind the scenes'_ thing. Semi-slash.

One

_I wish I had let the maids do my laundry._

It isn't the oddest thought to ever have crossed his mind, one couldn't be around the people he is daily and not have far stranger things fly through one's head. But standing before the glass fronted diner, a bag of clothes in one hand and rain soaking through his suit jacket, he has to admit it is pretty damn strange.

The next thought, a short, sharp _-oh fuck!- _is much more expected. Given the image laid out before him, it's a surprise the phrase isn't echoing round and round until it fills his head and pushes past his lips. Bit it doesn't and he remains silent. His heart pulls in his chest, and as a doctor he knows that can't really happen, but it sure as hell feels that way. Like so long ago, when he had stared through another glass front, longing for the things in front of him the way only someone with no hope of ever having them can. It isn't the model steam train he sees now, though he wishes it was, because that would hurt so much less.

He doesn't know, and actually hopes he never finds out, if Greg (because he is always Greg in the dark recesses of his mind) intended for him to find him here, surrounded by his Fellows, socialising in a way James thought long gone. Because if Greg had searched for the one way to completely screw him over, this is it. Because everything with Tritter, that can be skimmed over, can be put in a box labelled "Drug Addict" because it was all about the pills and never about him, not really. But this, this is more personal, this is what he ripped himself open to offer only hours before. And maybe he hadn't really expected Greg to invite him over, not tonight, because then it would have been as if House had actually listened. But then he hadn't expected this either, so maybe he should start revising his Gregory House Handbook, because somewhere along the way, the language changed and he can't read it anymore.

He wants to walk in there, to join them like he would were they sitting in the Conference Room, because they never invite him in, but they don't send him away either, except this time he thinks they will, and isn't that the story of his life?

This is what he wanted for his friend. Maybe he thought it would include more of himself and less of the ducklings, but this is still what he wanted, and his Mother's voice sounds in the distance about wishing and being careful.

He wonders if this is what it feels like to die, because his life seems to be slashing through his mind, reflected on the rain splattered glass, except it's not all of his life, just the last seventeen years, and it's all Greg's face shifting through the stages of life, and he realises that something is dying tonight even if it isn't really him.

He feels ridiculous because his cheeks are wet and it has nothing to do with the rain, but there's a smile on his face that probably makes him look like he's gotten something he has always wanted, and isn't that true? Because Greg is socialising and laughing and isn't that really what he _has_ always wanted. Except it's not quite right and it's killing a part of him that he's not sure how to live without, but Greg is _laughing_ and that's all that has mattered to him for so long that even as tears pour from his eyes he has to smile.

He knows he shouldn't still be standing here, that it isn't a good thing that he has finally stopped shaking with the cold. But moving away would be to really admit that Greg doesn't need him anymore, and he needs more time to acknowledge that.

Of course, House will still need him, need someone that will defend him from so many fronts that at times he thinks he's actually going to split apart. But he won't need him as a friend anymore, not now that he finally _wants _other people around. Because James has always been good at surviving on need alone, but when it's gone, and inevitably it always goes, for him there is nothing left. He thinks that he could do more than survive if someone _wanted _him, but it hasn't happened yet so he doesn't actually know, and he probably never will because even House doesn't want him, after all their years together and that was really the last test.

He thinks about going back to his empty hotel room and it makes the deserted street seem friendlier and more welcome than it has any right to be. Maybe this is what Michael felt when he ran away and it scares him that after all this time of searching for him to bring him back, he might actually like to join him.

He should take his own advice and call some people and have a drink and try to forget the World of House for a while. Only, he has become as isolated as Greg, but he's been on amicable terms with his staff for too long to suddenly make it anything more, and Lisa still isn't sure how to talk to him because Tritter blew holes in everything and it's taking too long to fill them all back in.

He blinks when Greg suddenly turns and their eyes meet. His smile is still perfect because he is happy for Greg really, and even seeing Greg's own smile drop slightly upon seeing him doesn't make his fall. The last chords of their friendship, stretched taught these last few months creak with the strain, and as though a candle has been placed beneath them, strands start to ping apart. He holds the last one tightly in his heart, like a small child clinging to his mother's hand. With a soft nod he lets it go, because he can't bear to see this one break, and almost stumbles under the loss.

He holds the blue gaze for a moment longer, but then someone says something and Greg turns away for a moment, and suddenly there is nothing holding him here anymore, so he turns and walks away before Greg can look back.

He can't ever let anything break completely, and he will always be there is any of the people that walk through his life need him again. It isn't healthy, but it's who he is, so he will be there the next time Greg needs him and, after placing his laundry in his car, he will go sit on the wall he has almost claimed as his own and wait, just in case his brother has decided that tonight he needs him again.


	2. Two

**Disclaimer:** See Part One

Two

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

It has become his mantra in such a short space of time. He likes the way it fills up his head and leaves little room for other thoughts. Like the way James looked in his office, neither surprised nor angry, offering himself with a mock bow, or just before he walked away tonight, his eyes glassy and a smile trying to lighten his face.

He doesn't know how long James stood there watching, but he thinks that while he was laughing at one of Foreman's sleazy jokes, something big happened and he missed it because he hasn't seen that face on his friend since he took his first unaided step with his cane.

He didn't plan the evening, it just sort of happened, and part of him tries to tell himself that if he hadn't see the Three Mouseketeers he would have gone home and phoned James for that pizza and beer. But he knows he wouldn't have, because he doesn't do that, he doesn't let people know that what they say actually makes him think and act, so he wouldn't have phoned. Still, had he really wanted James to find out like this? Again that part of him tries to insist that no, he would never do that, but the bigger part of him knows that he really would have and even if he didn't know that James would be out tonight, tomorrow he would have found an equally spiteful way of telling him.

He breaks things, it's what he does. He pushes and pushes until he finds the right button that will destroy everything, and he then he pushes that too. Everyone has a tell, and eventually he finds it and that makes finding the right button so much easier. Sometimes it takes a few hours, sometimes a few days and sometimes it takes fifteen years to find out just that it is that will break a person. James knows that, has known it almost from the start, and that's why they survived so long, because he hid his button behind smokescreens and mirrors. But losing his job to Vogler had made the defences crumble for just long enough for the Oncologist to tell him, his voice breaking on the word _friendship_, just what it would take. Two things. He had already lost the first in that moment, and it would have been so easy to break the second, be he had needed his help and connections, so he hadn't pushed.

Later, there had been times when he would force James to lose either his job or his friendship, but never managed both together. Until Tritter. The detective had wormed his way in under all their defences, and done what he had been unable to, he had forced them apart, taking away every aspect of James's life outside of House, and then he had taken care of the rest. Christmas Eve had been the first time James had ever walked away completely and the shock of _that_ had been enough to drag him out of his self-induced haze and to Tritter. It hadn't mattered in the end, as always it was too little too late, but James had still been around, deflecting the angry words thrown at him with nary more than a slight flinch and the ease of a man too well practised in the art.

But something had happened tonight, outside on the rain soaked street, and for once he has no idea what James has decided. Because he walked away again, but he was smiling, and nodding so maybe the direction he was walking means nothing this time, or maybe it means a lot more than it ever has before and he is too blind to see it.

He thinks maybe he should be smiling and laughing again, because the Fellows are looking at him oddly, but there's too much in his head right now to do anything but stare out through the glass. The emptiness outside is painful in a way he never expected it to be, because this is what he does, so shouldn't he be used to the feeling by now? Shouldn't he have built up a resistance like the Vicodin? Except this feels more like the moments of breakthrough pain and he has a feeling that even morphine won't work quite right this time.

Suddenly the friendly atmosphere is too stifling, so he excuses himself and steps outside for some air. He makes it passed the glass window and to the shop next door, out of sight, before he slumps back against its shutters. He is still staring at the spot James stood, as though by looking it will make the man reappear. Not that he really wants that does he? He wants to think he doesn't, so that _is_ what he thinks, what he believes, and he shuts off the line that everybody lies because it won't help him now to know that.

He wonders what it will be like tomorrow, be he doesn't need to wonder, because James is James is James and that's probably why it feels like something died instead of breaking, and why he can't get angry no matter how hard he tries, like he always does when he realises that broken things can't be fixed and it's the same for toys and people.

He doesn't know how to handle this without a fight. There has always been a fight before, because they always broke but now he's starting to understand what happened while he wasn't looking, and he fits in the last smile and nod like the last piece in a complex puzzle and finally the picture is complete. But he isn't satisfied, because it doesn't look like it did before it was cut up and there are still lines and gaps where the pieces will never fit as well as they once did.

James protected him like he always has, and he knows that he always will, because their friendship was released, not broken, so it's still there somewhere waiting for one of them to grasp hold of it again and because there is no anger, no heated accusations he will be able to snatch it back when ever he needs to without mending anything first.

It won't work, he knows, because he knows James as well as James knows him, and he knows what this friendship means to him, and how making it so superficial will kill the younger man. But there are only three options available; to put himself out on a fragile ledge and trust that James will be holding him steady, to make James hate him so much that it breaks and they both fall far away from each other, or take the chance James made for him, protect himself and try to ignore what it will do to his friend.

He can't do the first, it is why he is here after all, because there is something in him that closed off after Stacy and he doesn't know what he will find if he actually opens it up, the third would be hard, but he is sure he can do it, hasn't he spent the last few weeks ignoring his friend's pain in favour of his own? But the second, that would make things more familiar, he would be back on the ground of fighting and he is much better at that. Except through everything they haven't managed hate and he wonders if maybe James isn't capable of it, but that can't be true, because he hated Vogler, and he hated Tritter, and he is seeing a pattern there that he doesn't want to, so he stubs out the cigarette he lit without thinking and moves back towards the diner.

Tomorrow he will aim for hate, and see what he gets, but first he needs to drink a hell of a lot more, because glistening brown eyes and tremulous smiles won't leave him alone and he doesn't have the strength tonight to push them away himself.


	3. Three

**Disclaimer: **See Part One  
**A/N: **Couple of swear words, here and there, but not too much.

Three

Wilson is seated at his desk, elbows already deep in paperwork when House bursts through his office door. He knew this would happen, but he still finds himself gaping slightly at the sight. The clock on his computer screen says it is only eight-thirty, which is far too early for this confrontation to be occurring.

House has moved further into the room, and is watching the surprise on the younger man's face, fighting gallantly against a yawn that wants to crack across his own. He had to sneak passed Cuddy to get here, and he knows that it is unusual for him to be here so early, but even with the amount of alcohol he consumed the night before, he couldn't sleep long.

Wilson, having regained control of his jaw, snaps it shut before opening it again in comment.

"I didn't realise you knew this time of morning even existed." And it is exactly how House thought it would be, everything is the same, except where it isn't.

"I was hoping the sight of me would shock those puppies right outta Cuddy's top." He leers and finally settles on standing in front of Wilson's desk looking down.

"See, that would work if you hadn't snuck passed her office." At House's shocked look he continues with a small smile. "She would have followed you here had she seen you, and since my door's still open, and she isn't here, you snuck passed her."

Thwarted at the first hurdle, House pauses before releasing a rush of words in such as uncharacteristic way he winces.

"I went out with the ducklings last night."

Wilson merely smiles again, his eyes rising up for only a moment, before dropping back as he makes a note on a patient's chart. _Possible secondary growth._

"I know, I saw you. You looked like you were enjoying yourself. Wait." He pauses in his writing and looks up, his face a picture of false panic. "This isn't the part where you tell me you all got drunk and ended up getting caught in a four-way marriage, is it?"

House can't hold back a snort at that, trust Wilson.

"No, because I'm not you, and proposals don't fall off my tongue as easily as the alphabet."

"Well that's a relief, although Chase and Cameron wouldn't be too bad, Foreman would probably end up killing you within a week though."

House stares at him a moment, wishing there wasn't relief in that statement, because he needs Wilson to _wish_ Foreman would kill him.

"I went out with the ducklings last night." And this time Wilson hears the _'and not you'_ that House doesn't say out loud.

"Yes, we've been through that." And the crinkle between his brows is calculated and House knows that.

"Without you." And there it is. Wilson finally drops his pen and closes the file, he'll have plenty of time for paperwork later.

"Yes, I had noticed that." House wonders if the amused smile is calculated too, or if Wilson really doesn't feel anything beyond amusement.

"Why aren't you angry?" He's even more angry himself now, because this is almost impossible; Wilson isn't reacting any of the ways he should and he _**hates**_ anomalies.

"Angry at what?" It's hard hanging onto the casual tone, because all he really wants is to shout out the same question at himself, but he does know the answer and really so does House. He won't let House push this until it breaks, because House needs what's left.

"I went out with the ducklings and not with you." _Oh God!_

"This is ridiculous; you're talking in circles, House." There's a pressure building behind his eyes and House is rubbing his thigh and he almost hates that their pain still reflects each other's.

"Of course I'm talking in circles; you're not giving me any goddamn answers!" And the cane hits the ground hard enough to shake the window panes, and his breathing is rapid, but _Jesus, _why the hell won't Wilson react?

"What answers do you want House? That I really am angry with you for making an effort with your team? That I hate you for taking _my_ advice for once in your life?"

He pauses long enough that House thinks, _finally_, but the smile doesn't falter and he is starting to hate that fucking smile.

"It's not true and you know it. You were happy last night, I'm not going to be angry just because it wasn't with me."

"So you're just going to walk away again. Pretend nothing happened last night. This is all that easy for you?" A spark flares in those brown eyes and he jumps when hands slam down on the desk.

"Don't think for one fucking moment that this is easy! Don't you dare. You have no fucking idea how hard this is." Wilson is standing, hands flat against the desktop, shoulders heaving with each harsh breath, and House thinks, _YES!_ because he is finally getting what he came here for. But then Wilson's shoulders slump and he relaxes into the movement, the spark fading and he's too calm again.

"Damn you House. You always have to push that little bit more don't you? It won't work. I know what you're trying to do and it won't work on me." He does know, and now that he's calmed down he can see that. House wants this to break, but he is more stubborn than House ever gives him credit for, and this friendship is Not. Going. To. Break.

House falls gracelessly onto the couch, his own shoulders slumping forward, chin resting on his cane, voice so low it shouldn't be heard.

"Why can't you hate me?" And isn't that the question; why? Because he loves him, dammit. Because he loves him more than he has ever loved his wives, than he loves his job. But he won't say that, won't give House that ammunition, because that is all it would be.

Instead he says; "I can't hate you." and picks up his lab coat from its hook. House doesn't reply, doesn't ask again and he leaves the door open when he walks out, because House wants him to slam it, to negate his words, and he can't do that either.

_  
:fini:_

Please let me know what you think.


End file.
